


Blodørn

by WarriorOmen



Series: Blodørn [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Action, Fire, Fluff, History, M/M, Viking AU, Violence, historical fiction - Freeform, religious motifs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:32:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorOmen/pseuds/WarriorOmen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a raid in 793AD, York England, Viking Chieftan Håvard (Hannibal) finds a slowly starving Saxon child in a hut that's been cut off from the rest of the village and it's clan. Curious, Håvard finds the name of the child, Will and decides to bring him back to Norway with him and his own clan.  A fact that comes back to haunt him twelve years later; when the Saxons demand their revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Northbound

**Author's Note:**

> As you all know, I'm a history major and THIS is what I do with almost three years of Viking History. My professor would be so proud.
> 
> More notes at the end of this, but this is basically what you need to know before reading:
> 
> I've altered their names here to make it a bit more authentic. So the characters are as follows.
> 
> William-Vilhelm  
> Hannibal-Håvard (Pronounced as Hooh-vard. It means 'High Guardian'  
> Jack-Yens  
> Jimmy- Leif  
> Brian-Erik
> 
> The title of the fic means 'blood eagle' which also fits the show; as the killing with the wings was like that of a blood eagle sacrifice.
> 
> At the beginning of the fic, 793AD, Hannibal is 20 years old. Yens is 27 and Jimmy and Brian are both 18. Will is 10. It's younger than normal, but people died at 30 in this time period.
> 
> Special thanks (actually a LOT of thanks) go to my own angry Viking, Vaeltaa. And to literature and history savy Elaine.
> 
> PS-I HIGHLY recommend [Wardruna](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsSd-1AE4QY) As mood music. All of their songs are amazing and sound intensely authentic.

__

At every door-way,  
ere one enters,  
one should spy round,  
one should pry round  
for uncertain is the witting  
that there be no foeman sitting,  
within, before one on the floor -  
Hávamál

 

|| 793 AD. York, England ||

 

_When they lifted the earth from the sea, there was chaos and strife._

_Until they found their place,the stars,the sun,the moon._

_Was that what it felt like?_

_Too be consumed in that unmitigated frenzy of heat and salvation?_

Heat ravaged the side of his face, flickering a dull path against the jagged line of redemption newly formed there. He knew it would scar, leave a mark as thick and harsh as the flames surrounding him on either side. Voices cried for a Heaven that didn't exist.

A saviour that existed from fools mouths, and contemptuous breaths.

Lifeblood oozed through the cracks,settling uncomfortably in the scruff of his beard, thick. Heavy.

It spurned him on, even as he squinted against the gush of it from another. He was dead before he'd completely fallen from Håvard's blade edge.

Liquid air was the smoke, leaving a tangy cloud against his nostrils; watering his eyes and smearing his vision.

Metal clashed all around,and when he spun, the fires to his back,he saw it.

A hut, poised just outside the cluster, as though the community had deemed it plagued.

Every shout ringing in his ears, every flame licking the back of his neck faded to a sort of white noise. Something he knew to be there,but largely ignored in favour of his new sight. Alone, abandoned even from it's own kin; the small muddy dwelling would be easy prey.

The sole of his boot was slick in the grass, slippery from blood, he steadied himself and took deliberate,but hasty steps to the dwelling,a single kick forward made quick work of the door, which was flimsy, even by Saxon standards.

Inside a woman lay,flat on the ground in a simplistic dress of un dyed wool. Skin blue and stiff, he sank his blade to her back even before he register that she was already dead.

When she ceased to bleed beyond the light tinges left on his blade, he frowned, and kicked her aside.

A small noise from her left alerted him to a dirty blanket, animal and soft. A quiet,defeated whine. Dark ,rough fingers gripped it and he tore it aside, expecting to find a wounded creature.

Instead,he got small, dirty hands and another whine, sharp and terrified. Rail thin arms and tattered clothing not much finer than the woman's pitiful dress. Bone like fingers covered a trembling, mud and tear strewn face; he'd only caught the briefest flash of blood shot, pale blue eyes before they were covered.

A boy, maybe about six or seven (but possibly much older, underfed as he was, it was hard to judge). Not an animal. A child suffering more severely than any that he'd slayed that very night, trying to form himself into some manner of an invisible ball, yet peering between his filthy fingers at the sharp, reddened blade.

He was waiting.

Killing the boy would take him quicker than the starvation, a mercy, really. But Håvard lifted neither blade nor hand to him. Seeing that tiny, gentle spark in the nearly clouded eyes.

A will to live.

Even as he died with every passing moment. Every breath his frail body took a vying will to keep going. Odin only knew just how long the child's mother had been dead. An intelligent eye flickered towards him again, regarding him with the softest,most pitiful whine he'd yet heard.

Challenging him.

It was enough. Håvard crouched,forcing himself to eye level.

“What is your name, child?”

The boy blinked, hands lowering to his lap, staring towards him blankly.

Håvard's chest contracted with reality. He's a Saxon. He cursed, inwardly. He can't understand you.

Time was not in favour, nor a blessing. Hastily,he pointed to his own chest, and spoke as slowly as he could.

“Håvard” and pointed,to the boy.

Miraculously,the child seemed to understand,and he made a series of small sounds before managing to sputter, 'Will.”

Will. Will. It sounded strange and foreign in Håvard's mind. But there was no time to contemplate. He reached for the blanket he'd torn so hastily, wrapping Will in it until only his eyes and nose were free, placing him gently beside the corner of the hut, and placing a finger to his lips.

Don't move. Don't speak. He silently conveyed,pointing to the outside,and then back in. I will return for you. 

The boy was so small his clan would think he'd stolen the blanket,instead. It had once been nice, to be sure.

Will nodded, remarkably and Håvard reached again for his blade, mouth set to a grim line as he entered the fire anew.

There was no word for the sense of pride he had when he came to collect Will all those hours later.

++++

At camp, some five miles outside the ruined York; his clan members settled themselves for a meal, Erik and Leif arguing quietly over the cuts of meat; Yens sleeping in a small U shape against the fire they'd started.

Not a single one of them objected to his leaving when he approached the bundle of blanket and boy, whom he'd kept next to his armour against a slightly hidden tree. Lifting the fold, he noticed his new charge appeared to be asleep,but the icy sweat against his dirty forehead told him that his sleep was not fitful.

Smelling the meat, food. He woke,and his small hand darted out without permission to steal it, shoving the contents between his chipped,brittle teeth.

Håvard wrapped his fingers about Will's neck, gently prying the food from his mouth,shaking his head. Sliding to his knees, he gesticulated the motions of vomiting,then moved his mouth in slow,easy grinds.

Slow, Will. You must eat slowly. Else you be ill.

Will's cheeks seemed to heat even in the darkness,and he opened his palm,tentative. This time, Håvard delivered a small morsel to him; refusing to give him more until enough time had passed that Will could prove he was able to stomach it.

He fed him slowly,in brief intervals that were interspersed by Will's soft coughing. When he'd finished, Håvard settled his back against the tree, surprised,but oddly touched when Will scrambled into his lap, desperate for heat against his chilled body, curled against the large expanse of his chest.

Beneath his beard, Håvard smiled, drawing the blanket above them both, making sure his blade was near before he allowed for his eyes to close.

++++

It was Erik,who found them. The most spiteful one in the clan,his snarls of disgust against the rising sun were both palpable and distasteful.

“You sully yourself with this Saxon bastard.” He spat, though he was not dim-witted enough to raise a hand, already testing the waters by challenging his chief. “Why? He'll be naught but sullied baggage.”

Will, listening but not comprehending, responded by burrowing further into Håvard's chest. Far more concerned with when the next deliverance of food would come than he was with Erik's discontent.

Not wanting to disturb the child, Håvard simply stared, regarding Erik solemnly, if with some irritation.

“I owe you no explanation. Should you wish to challenge me,do it proper,with your blade. But you know as well as I that neither you,nor Leif can take control. And Yens is advancing in age.'

Erik hesitated,glancing to the dirty Saxon boy,then back to his chief. Irritated-confused as he was, he knew Håvard was right. They needed him if they wanted to keep succeeding, and he nor Leif had the experience.

“I assume he'll remain your responsibility?”

“Obviously.” Nodding. 'Keep the fire going.” Dismissing the issue. “We'll begin our travels after breakfast.”

Sensing nigh automatic defeat, Erik clambered back to the fire, shaking his head in Leif's general direction before making his way towards the woods with him,intent on their breakfast.

Safe again, Will peered at Håvard lifting the palm of his hand imploring.

Håvard smiled,soft but shook his head. Pointing to where Erik and Leif had vanished too, mimicking a spear throw. Will frowned, disappointed, but the notion that food was coming seemed to brighten him a bit. Håvard brought him to his feet, moving Will to his back to carry him down the clearing, to where he knew there to be a small water bed.

Eager to divest himself of dried blood and sweat; and clean the boy, he slid Will down, beginning the somewhat laborous process of removing his own cloths. When he reached for Will,the child shrank away, attempting to disappear in his ill fitting tunic.

Håvard sighed,patiently, imitating the motion of washing with his hands against his arms. Will pointed to the water and wrapped his arms about himself,shivering.

Ah. The cold. Of course. An almost necessary,evil. So Håvard thought. Backing up,he moved until he was stepping backwards to the water,letting his feet become accustomed to the chill of it, before stepping further and further; until he was at his knees.

Will blinked, boldly, taking careful steps towards it. When he dipped his fingers,he pulled a face, but lifted his arms obediently for Håvard to rid him of the tunic, lifting him up to almost the middle of his chest. Not daring to get further than waist-deep, Håvard held him in a single arm, using his own body to keep him warm as he slowly cleaned his face and hair,setting him down gently to let the water cleanse the rest of the filth from him. Will continued to shiver, but he seemed curiously distracted, trailing small fingers up to the cut lashed against Håvard's cheek. Where it still lay open and brutal.

Softly,he keened,dropping his hand and shaking his head. Håvard smiled, ruffling the boys damp curls, letting the grime trail away to forgetfulness as he climbed from the water, taking the small hand in his own,squeezing slowly.

Worry not, little one. It hurts no longer.

++++

Trekking their way through the grasslands was hardly the most difficult of tasks; but Will's body, frail and boneless as it was; could barely stand the steps it took to get a decent footing. Saving time, Håvard simply shifted the child to his back, hands about his legs to hold him steady. Although Will keened softly in protest,he soon fell asleep against the crook of his shoulder,relaxed by the elder's warmth.

“He is so small.' Leif finally announced, unable to take the silence much longer. “Do you really think you'll be able to get him going, Håvard?”

There was no malice in the other's tone, that alone prompted him to answer.

“Small but there is spirit. This child holds the God's desires to live in the face of all that keeps him at bay. With that, I feel his health will return.”

“Enough spirit to carry the blade?”

“With enough practice, I feel he'll find himself more than capable of doing so.'

“And enough..” Leif glanced, just over head. 'Strength.”

“All in time, Leif. All in time.”

“Odin only knows what you want with a bleeding Saxon spawn..” Erik mumbled, loudly enough that Håvard would hear but quietly enough that he could pretend he'd not.

Håvard decided to ignore him.

By the time the sun had risen somewhat high in the sky-mostly hidden by the thick clouds, Håvard with drew his blade, slipping it to the hilt and reversing it,stabbing at the ground.

“We rest.' A simple command that was followed almost instantly. Will,having woken a few moments prior, glanced down to it from his perch, running curious eyes up and down it's length. Which Håvard took instant notice too. Bracing his arms out to let the small Saxon slip free,feet upon the grass.

Amused, he took the blade back up, holding it out to Will, watching him with soft brown eyes.

Would you take it,child? Do the fates call you to a different path after all?

Reaching out,Will slipped his hands beneath the blade, grunting in near silence before he got it in hand, feet slipping as he attempted to wrap both hands about the hilt. Fingers white with strain as he lifted, and lifted, getting only about as high as Håvard's knees. 

Håvard knew it was a mistake the second Will tried to swing, the weight of it pulling him down,face first in the grass. The yelp and sudden,high pitched shriek not unlike that of a trapped bird brought Håvard down immediately, to his knees to draw the small one back up.

Let me see. You will be okay, but let me see.

Predictably, Will hid his face; as though he could contain the pain by holding too it,only dropping when Håvard's thick fingers coaxed against his wrist, tears already smearing the streaks of red.

Nothing major, a small slice to the forehead, shallow. It would heal instantly. Much of Will's howling came about from the shock of falling.

Hushing him, Håvard drew the edges of his own tunic against the top of Will's head, patting it slowly. Will's breathing hitched and he settled to the curve of Håvard's shoulder, giving the blade an accusatory glance with small,narrowed orbs.

Håvard chuckled,softly. 

They could work on it.

++++

On the fifth night of walking, Will developed a cough that had Håvard legitimately concerned. The Saxon flatlands had turned steadily chillier,and Will's body-free of meat and insulation, seemed to absorb the cold through his blood. He shivered fitfully regardless of how close to his chest Håvard drew him. Even going so far as to slide the boy beneath his own tunic, better transferring the heat.

Sweat dampened his brow; and Håvard watched another fit, drawn deep and hollow from his chest,sent that small body to quaking.

“ Håvard...” Leif warned, standing by Yens with the only hot water they'd been able to create; held in a tiny stone bowl. Barely enough to serve as a cup. 'Perhaps..”

“He'll pull through.' Håvard snapped; more irritably than intended. 'A chill will not take this boy.”

“You are not thinking realistically, Håvard” Yens sighed. 'We lack the water needed to keep him sustained,and he eats only as much as we. Which is not much. He was on the bridge of Hel before you even..”

“On the bridge,” Håvard hissed. 'Not over it. And he certainly will not stay across with you lot continuing to push him forward with your dissent.”

“You are letting your care for this Saxon override your judgement.' Erik grunted, tossing a handful of under brush to the fire. “You used to be able to see reason.”

“I see reason by what I know.” Watching as Will drew another rattle tinged breath. 'And this child will survive.”

 

His three companions each exchanged weary looks,but said nothing else of the matter. They knew better than to openly challenge their chieftain. Unable to persuade him away from the Saxon he'd grown so fond of.

Even as the sun began to rise against what he had come to recognize as the Southern side of Saxony, and as Will continued to shake and cough; he stayed with him. He spent hours he could barely count the passing of with that frail body curled to his chest. Bathing him in the riverbend when there was little he could to to further lower his temperature even as the air around them grew icy. 

He ate only when Leif brought him the handfulls, and most of it went to whatever Will could stomach without his chest expelling it forcefully.

And on the eleventh night when Will opened his eyes, clear for the first time since he'd fallen ill, staring up at Håvard with a gratitude he could barely digest, he knew that it had all been worth the strain.

++++

When they were able to travel without great need for navigation, Håvard began to teach Will the alphabet, finding that vocal communication would be a necessity. Will's arms a tight binding about his neck as he repeated every letter, with as much high pitched enthusiasm as he could muster.

Some letters they shared,so overall speaking was easy. But others..

“Æ” Håvard tried,again. 

“Ayed!”

Håvard groaned,but it was in good humour. ' Æ”

Will frowned,nestling his chin to the bed of Håvard's thick, matted hair. “Aiie?”

Closer,but perhaps they ought to try another.

“Ø”

Leif turned, a little bit curious in spite of himself now, watching the way Will's lips curled over his teeth.

“Eard.”

Leif snorted, Håvard shook his head,exhaling quietly. 

“Å?”

They stopped walking, Will putting both hands to Håvard's shoulders,bracing himself up as high as he could,gasping. “OOVES”

Such enthusiasm. Håvard felt himself laughing more freely than he had since before their arrival in Saxony. Of course,there was one more to cover,and he composed himself.

“ð”

Will frowned, settling himself back down, pushing the small edge of his tongue between his teeth and spitting,hard.

“THPFS”

Leif laughed so hard he lost his footing on a rock, greeting the grass almost as enthusiastically as he would his wife.

Yens reached down, yanking Leif back to his feet by the belt of his tunic, Håvard turned his head best as he could to glance at his little companion,whom was grinning devilishly in complete blissful ignorance at him.

“By Valhalla child,we will get you talking.' Aware that the words would be utter nonsense to Will. But still,it was the principle of the matter.

Will grinned, tapping on Håvard's head with his own nose, settling his hands in Håvard's braids-a hand for each,and promptly curling up to sleep. As though that settled the matter.

++++

Less than four nights after that,they returned to their boat. Which, to Håvard's surprise and immediate pleasure,was perfectly in tact and needed only the barest work to get it going.

They were out to sea faster than they had accomplished anything else thus far. Will eagerly divested himself from Håvard's lap the moment they began to leave the land behind, bracing his arms against the sides of the wood,staring down at the sea below.

Unable to say anything that wasn't 'Hello' and 'Food”, Will instead gestured frantically to Håvard until he came over to see for himself. Too peer beyond the waves to the vast world of the sea that existed below. Håvard smiled, and drew his arm about Will's shoulders, settling back to tell him of the creation of the sea and the vast world that came about because of it. And the world they would soon be returning too.

Home. The land of the Gods, wrought from the chaos.

He spoke slowly,easily,tampered down to a way that Will could listen. The child soon left his study of the water, curling and settling himself at his usual place against Håvard's chest. Lulled both by the heat and the steady,deep soothe of his voice.

++++

By the time they reached the shores of Norway,home no longer a simple dream, Håvard had a name for his little wiry sprite.

Vilhelm.


	2. Southern Shards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More characters this time around!
> 
> Bedelia Du Maurier-Brita
> 
> I am really really sorry about the length of the end notes. This thing is a bitch with them. It forces you to keep the original and your new one.

Wise he is deemed who can question well  
and also answer back:  
the sons of men can no secret make  
of the tidings told in their midst.  
Hávamál

|| 805 AD. Borg, Norway ||

_Even in waking,_

_It all sometimes seemed like a dream._

_He lived._

_He lived._

_Ah,by the Gods he'd been made to live. Greeting every morn as though fully aware of that precious offering. Life did not come easily. A hand around the blade, overlooking the village from where he was sat, wind lifting the soft curls of his chestnut coloured hair, only the faintest edges of cold daring to prick beneath his tunic and fur._

_Mull not over what the Gods have deemed to be your favour, but remember to thank them by the coming light. For without their courtesy you would have died, a bone of blue and ice._

_Of neglect,of sorrow._

_You'd never have breached the shores of your rebirth. Never felt that strange, thick hand painting it's protective runes against your flesh. Ah,he could remember how heavy the blood had felt. The eyes of the clan they'd return to upon him. Faces he'd come to know. Erik's wife,broad and strong, near his left. Leif's smaller wife and young,round faced daughter. Men too old to fight,but still strong enough to serve the community._

_Greet your new family. That last rune chanted about at the center of his forehead, how he'd looked to Håvard through his mask of blood, and taken the edges of his tunic in hand._

_You let me live._

_You birthed me again._

“Vilhelm!” Small hands that he'd come to know in passing tugged at the edges of his shirt cuff,drawing him from his memories to the small round face, dark blonde hair compiled to a series of braids atop her head. He smiled,warmly, placing a hand to the shoulder of Leif's heavily pregnant fifteen summers daughter.

“Svåva.” He greeted,already rising to his feet, seeing the way she grit her teeth. “How can I be of assistance?”

She flushed,apparently ashamed. Though he knew not whether that was shame or her bodies natural temperature rising as it fought to sustain the life with her. “Father's gone again. They said that he was seen about the edges of the commune. I..”

Vilhelm frowned, feeling his lips curl beneath his beards coverings. Svåva's husband, Øyvind had been shown to be short of temper and too quick of hand with it. For her safety,they'd cast him out,chasing him away. Svåva uttered another weak groan. 'I've my dagger; I'm naught to terrified,but I think I strained something, I cannot find the strength in my back.”

Shushing her, Vilhelm reached out. 'He will not come near. But you need to rest,you sway. Please. If you would allow..?”

She hardly looked eager by the offer,but another spike of pain convinced her to accept, letting Vilhelm draw her to his arms, carrying her the short distance down the hillside to her own home,smoke greeting them. Her mother must have heard the approach,for the door was open to receive them just as Vilhelm reached the thresh.

“Worry not, Hervor” Vilhelm announced, gently setting the hunched over girl to her feet. 'She is having some difficulty walking. I merely aided her in her travels. She must preserve her resources for the child.”

Hervor nodded, ushering her daughter through the door. 'Thank you, Vilhelm.' Glancing about with a sort of sharp eyed fervor. “I suppose you have been made awares-”

“I have. She has little to fear. He will not reach a boats length of this house.”

Vilhelm stepped off the wooden podium, intent to leave so he could return to the fire before the hunting party came back (it was his turn to be the solitary male to stay behind and guard, thanks to their daily rotations) when a shriek alerted both him and Hervor back to the nest of blankets across the way.

“Svåva!” Turning herself to the side of the house, the edges of her boots nearly slipping with the haste. Vilhelm followed close at her heels, altered almost instantly to the sudden darkening against her dress, the high heat in her cheeks.

Svåva was almost instantly beyond all composure, attempting to lift herself higher on the bed and giving quick, jerky looks to the mess of her dress. 'I thought we had at least another moon cycle to go!” She half shrieked, half groaned. 'I-”

A scream cut her off, back bowed with the effort. Hervor crouched, slipping a hand just beneath the curve of her stomach,and frowned.

“Apparently,that cycle has come, child. Vilhelm! Could you?”

Vilhelm was quite clueless of the matter, but he did not say as much. Allowing for Hervor to place Svåva in the necessary position, hastily throwing a handful of cloths to him. “Put that under..good thank you, use that one for cleaning..we need some water!'

“Allow me,please.' Vilhelm offered, standing again and filling the basin from the iron jug atop the tree stump fashioned table, bringing it back. 'Have we a need of anything else?”

“Some old leather.' Speaking loudly as another screech from Svåva threatened to drown them out. Vilhelm,seeing nothing useful, merely undid the swatch of it at his waist,folding the belt over and handing it to Hervor, who slid it between her daughter's teeth.

“Bite down as you push,my child.”

Svåva made a slight face at the taste,before another scream cut itself off,back bowing and arching harshly against the bedding.

“That's it,' Hervor coaxed. 'Good girl.” Pushing the flat of her hand against her brow. 'Soon as your ready, we can begin.”

The look Svåva tossed her was almost pitiful, as though she was clearly in doubt as to how they were not already doing this. Vilhelm took a breath, glancing to Hervor and Svåva for a silent permission. At the nearly identical nods-one far more desperate than the other, he took to work. Pushing back against the hemline of her gown, until the cloth fell just to her knees.

Nothing met his vision,but the traces of the expelled fluid from before,and he glanced up to Hervor.

“I think she can start when she feels ready. The child will shift soon enough.”

“He was already hanging quite low.' Hervor murmured, petting against her daughter's sweaty brow. “Should not be too much of a delay now.”

“I would..” Vilhelm took a breath. The only births he had ever been present at were animal. The last baby that had been born in this village had not been someone he knew entirely well. 'Suggest you support her?” Glancing towards the strangely slumped position Svåva had wormed herself into.

Hervor, not having noticed how far down she'd slumped, gently eased Svåva against her back, slipping her fingers to her daughters. “Squeeze and bite child, listen to Vilhelm as best as you can.”

Vilhelm's head spun with the control he suddenly had.

“Okay.” Another breath. 'Now, push.”

Svåva did, abruptly pushing herself back until her chest was nearly crushing her mother's bosom, head tipped forward as he lips went white around the belt. Vilhelm silently praised her effort,before making it vocal.

“Excellent! Come now, again.”

She obliged. Every moment seemed repetitive and more forceful. Vilhelm had to slide his hands to her knees to keep her steady when she pitched forward on a particularly painful spasm and nearly dislodged herself. Hervor's fingers were going purple from the grips. A heavy scent of blood began to sweep across Vilhelm's nose, and before Svåva could panic-recognizing the scent herself; he soothed her down. Set her back to the easy rhythm they had created to bring this to completion.

_Do you trust me? In debt in me. What the Gods have given to you?_

_What fate awaits such a deliverance?_

Around the longhouse people had gathered, driven by the sounds of the wailing the belt could not effectively catch. 

_Ah,but you are so close._

_How you crest over._

_You are near._

Vilhelm's tunic was becoming damp from the sweat, the exertion. Svåva was weakening,her knees trembling and fingers going slack. Hervor chanted soft praises to her. Even as her daughter's face became more and more pale. A whiteness that quickly overrode the flush she'd developed.

Silence seemed to descend, blanket like.

And then the screams.

Not a moment spared to catch the rush,the damage against Vilhelm's tunic as blood a colour he had never had revealed to it before embraced it. His eyes paying no mind beyond the nearly deafening wailing his arms had become parent too.

Dazed,he reached for the cloth, patting at the infants face to relieve some of the muck, blinking down at the small life he held.

Svåva's lips dislodged the leather,and she held her hands out imploringly,even though they were almost too weak to lift.

“Please.”

Vilhelm shook himself, lowering the child to the appropriate bosom, nearly disturbed when Leif and a handful of others invaded the longhouse.

“Svåva!” Paying little mind for any that were not his daughter,barely glancing Vilhelm's way as he crouched by her side, taking in his grandson with reverent awe.

“Father. Father look to his eyes. He has the shine of the morn in them.”

Vilhelm turned,catching the glimpse of solid amber in his direction.

_Look upon me._

_Even as I slip away._

++++

“A skill I knew you not have.” Håvard commented, raising the dirty cloth to the bowl held above the flames,dropping it there before reaching for one slightly fresher, the material warm against Vilhelm's fingers,cleansing him of the deed.

“One I never had until a moment ago.” Vilhelm commented, looking to the lowering sun. Appreciative of how the golden rays seemed to reflect upon every blade of grass, alighting across the harsh planes of Håvard's cheeks; bringing them to an almost ruddiness.

Vilhelm coughed to his palm, extending his fingers. Håvard,catching his gaze, gave forth a small,sharp smile, running the warmed fabric against his knuckles.

“Do you feel a sense of accomplishment? There is quite the thrill in bringing life to this world; unlike that of taking so.”

“Both seem satisfactory in turn.”

“One not more so than the other?”

Vilhelm looked up,trailing the dark sun tinted eyes. 

“Nay. Both serve some purpose. One is just far more pleasing.”

Håvard let out a small chuckle of what Vilhelm might call adoration; were he less skeptical. “Ah. The Gods brought me to that hut for some purpose, to be ascertain.”

“Oh?” Vilhelm looked down then, to where his hands lay clean against the flat of the cloth, laying still over Håvard's palms. 'Such purpose as..?”

“You.' A simple explanation for what seemed to Vilhelm to be entirely more complicated. 'A reminder I am given every morn and eve.”

Vilhlem, oddly humbled, gave another cough. “See if you say so come morn when I have you flat upon your back and at Gagnráðr's mercy.”

++++

“Bring him to ground!” 

“Come now! Do not let yourself become foiled!”

“Aye! Finish!”

Vilhem couldn't discern the female voices from the male's,circled around them in a cluster as they were. Erik was still turning his shoulder in a series of well timed rolls, often giving a mutter or two about how Vilhelm,being younger, could obviously move faster.

“Oh quit with the moaning.” Hilde jeered, 'You just can not believe it possible that he got you.”

Now, face to face with Leif, Vilhelm drew back his lips and uttered forth a small growl of determined readiness. Leif mimicked him,thrusting out with his blade to dislodge Gagnráðr from the frontal position it held at his chest.

Vilhelm grinned, rearing upwards to knock his blade to Leif's, cutting off the attempted break by spinning on the back of his left foot; the slightly muddied grass giving him leverage. Leif took the single milisecond he used on the turn to lurch forward, cutting Vilhelm off at the stomach.

Around them, the circle became narrower, chants of “Aye! Get him off guard! Come on finish him off!" Filling both of their ears. Vilhelm peered down at the blade and, as though to grab for it, spun entirely, his stomach avoiding the point to come up and round about on Leif, shoving his blade beneath the neck of his clansmen.

Leif inhaled, slightly panting, before peering down at the blade's point, careful not to exhale too fully.

“Hmph.' He backed down, lowering himself to a knee and rooting his blade in the grass. Vilhelm felt the grin stretch to both sides of his beard, bringing his own to the top of Leif's head and patting it,once.

Victorious.

Withdrawing the blade,he offered a companionable hand to Leif, bringing him back to his feet. Leif clapped him on the shoulder and made his way back to the crowd, leaving Vilhelm alone in the middle of the cluster.

“Well well, little sprite.” Head turning in recognition. Håvard drawing forth from the North; Hræsvelgr poised regally at his shoulder, hair tied back into a series of thick braids. “You find yourself at the helms of victory today?”

“Aye. Chief Håvard. I find I do.”

“Then let us see how long you might claim to keep so.”

Parting the crowd, Håvard stepped to the middle. Vilhelm backed himself up, placing his blade back to his hip to wait the appropriate amount of time before they would begin. Håvard turned to Svåva whom was cradling Agnar to her chest.

“Svåva. Be kind enough to give the word.” Echoing Vilhelm's position, eyes never straying.

“Aye.' She smiled, letting her own gaze dart between the two.

“At the call..” A pause. 'Begin!”

In the air, a single swooshing of metal sang in the atmosphere,hanging in a dim,thick circle about the two of them. Unlike before, where there had been loud cheers and shouts of encouragement,the clan went almost entirely silent,anticipation forcing them to focus.

Made of tightly wound muscle and broad in body, Håvard moved with the grace and fluidity of the running streams. His blade came to Vilhelm's in a simultaneous clash that shook his wrist and sang up the coiled cords of his muscles; where his grip was a slack firmness.

Unfettered, Vilhelm grunted, pulling back long enough to sway himself slightly to the left, stabbing at the bottom of Håvard's ribcage with her.

Håvard glanced down, nearly contemplatively, bringing back Hræsvelgr almost completely before working her tip beneath that of Vilhelm's, thrusting upwards to throw him off balance and bring the tip to Vilhelm's stomach.

Something like a dull hiss ascended, baited.

Vilhelm refused to give pause for long; drawing in his stomach and torso, bending almost entirely backwards and letting Gagnráðr kiss the razor edge of Hræsvelgr and knocking her loose.

_When you wield a blade, you deliver power,countenance._

_You take what the Gods give freely._

_With a price._

_A suffrage._

_You feel the weight not just in hand, but in heart._

Movement became more haste driven then, more fluid. No sound existed in Vilhelm and Håvard's ears that was not that of their own breathing, counted and drawn, or the clash of their blades.

_You live._

_Breathe._

_Believe._

_What you hold there from that point in motion is a power of destruction only carried when you yourself become that adversary._

_A fool alone would tread with haste in such circumstance._

With the air, he felt that pull, the sudden loss of reality as the ground met his back, eyes barely having the chance to close in time to prevent the mud from obscuring them. Compressed by Håvard as though he were made of iron and steel himself.

Every pull of life brought forth an almost dull shake. Aware that the only one who might take note of it was that of which held him so, Hræsvelgr's edge drawing forth the lightest hint of the force that kept them breathing.

_What happens when the world fades?_

_Do you then cease to exist?_

“Perhaps,” Håvard offered, dagger point teeth revealing themselves, 'Another day will find you besting I.”

Vilhelm, almost distracted, offered up teeth of his own.

“I shall strive for that day.”

A single finger, rough at the padding, drew back and dipped for the mud,coming up to drag against Vilhelm's forehead, three single strokes of an arrow, searing to his skin.

“I as well; too see.”

++++

“Our blessed Father in Heaven. Guide to us our path; as we fulfill thy honour and pilgrimage of righteousness.”

York, in all the faded glory, danced behind his eyes. Every scream placating him as they made yet another step forward. Aware that, even though they came close, the journey was incomplete and still an almost distant future.

“Chilton.' Tobias groused. 'The fall of the dusk is upon us, there is only so much more walking we might accomplish unsustained. We know not of this being even the right path.”

“Ah but the Lord gives us their path.”

“As do..” Franklyn bent to his knees,a crouch to glance to the leaves. 'The clues?”

“These..barbarians, they oft stray from their homes. Makes them rather an easy bout to follow.”

“Easy or nay, Tobias makes a fair point” Sutcliffe agreed. 'We need the respite.”

“Oh Father, beseech me the strength” Chilton muttered under breath. But, as the sun finally gave way,he relented, stopping his footing. 

“So we rest. Fear not, my fellow Servants of the Lord. We soon will sleep on the blood of those we seek to revoke. The Lord will grant us peace.”

++++

Some eves, all Håvard found himself capable of was to sit and observe,lost in reverence.

Often times,when these moments claimed him, the meat vested in his hands, became a long forgotten memorial in favour of the images dancing though his mind.

Dancing blades and swinging braids clouding his eyes. The toss of a spear and the hoot of victory when she made contact.

Vilhem had thrived so fully beneath his guidance that Håvard was certain he had found himself born to the wrong side of the hills. He had learned and developed every skill a true warrior in his clan might have as though he too were birthed beneath Thor's watchful gaze.

Until the fateful reminder came that all the Gods did was by careful designation.

A will he'd not question.

Vilhelm, his once precarious Saxon, had the grace of the winds and the forcefulness of the dagger. He moved with soft,but calculated fluidity.

Oft, his prey found themselves upon the mouth of Hel before they had the moment to see Vilhelm's coming attack.

Håvard's heart could hardly hold such a precious treasure to clasp.

At his success, he would free the bloodied Gagnráðr from the adversary, a flash of teeth and roar of blue meant for but his gaze and that alone.

A stir, Vilhelm had forced his attention too his cooling meat, that smile now gentle, peaceful, welcoming.

Håvard roused himself long enough to complete the task of consumption, his gaze torn to prevent disservice to them both.

When Vilhelm had suggested the watchful prowl in the woods before they took to rest, Håvard agreed willingly so, calm amongst the easy stir of the trees. 

And if he found himself pushed back against them,claimed by lips alone in a way that rendered him speechless, only to force himself back, to find the knot of curls and foretell that gentle reminder, 

"You would disgrace yourself."

Met with only a casual smile.

"Aye. And by morn I could die"

Perhaps a little worry was worthwhile.

++++

_They came on the wind._

_Nowhere you could turn._

_Or a breadths' to which you could hide._

_Through the flames, they charged, as though carried by some unseen force._

_Chanting,screaming._

_Tri-cornered wood held high above head._

_Storming through the breach of the hillside, slipping on knees down it when feet could not carry; blades drawn and clashing furiously with those held by they. But like no fury unleashed before. What Gods carry you? With your strange crossings of boards._

_A language I spoke once before._

_Ah.Listen_

_You hear it._

_But to late,perhaps. Almost not enough time to get about you your wits, how you hear it sing, it cuts. Slices._

_What,will you hear without an ear now,boy?_

_I need not an ear to defeat you!_

_They swarm,they gather._

_No! Let her not fall! Not with the child!_

_You should have stayed home,boy. Starving Saxon._

_You should have died._

_Ah! Can your hear? Your precious barbarians crying out to their blasphemous deities_

 _Or,should you lose but another ear?_

_How do you fight,what you cannot see?_

_Feel you not the blood?_

"I fear you not! For even though I be blinded, I cast about my blade and I shall defeat you!"

"VILHELM!"

"You call us not,Saxons! I no longer carry your sigil! I carry not-"

"VILHELM! RELEASE!"

"Not as they stand!"

"Vilhelm! There exists not a soul! Open your eyes!"

But open they are..?

Vilhelm blinked,staggerred. Confused. He was off his bench,sheep skin wound about his knees,blade in hand, pushing it's heart to the pillar. A candle had been lit just inches from his face. Another blink,more in response to the rough shaking of his shoulders. The callouses familiar on his bare skin. His breeches the only article of clothing he slept in. 

When he turned, he could see Håvard's eyes in direct outline to his own through the candle light, tunic about himself. Though,there was little else.

"Håvard" Vilhelm flushed. 'I..I woke you?"

"Woke us all, Vilhelm." Håvard answered,though it was without condensation. "What roused you so?"

"Sights beyond closed eyes.."

"By Valhalla," Erik moaned."You woke us all for naught but a nightmare?"

Hilde reached an arm up,cuffing him sharply against the back of his head. 'Oh do seal that slipped knit that is your mouth. It may have been from the Gods."

Erik grunted but silenced himself. His wife being the only person outside of Håvard he dare not challenge.

"By the way he was in standing, it could only be so." Svåva agreed,tipping her breast more firmly towards the infant. 'Though it might have been nice had he not woken Agnar in the process. He suckles me dry."

Vilhelm flushed in sympathy,but Håvard's hand was an insistant,steady presence upon his neck. "What saw you?" Drawing Vilhelm to a seat, untangling him from the wool, releasing the blade from his grip as he did so. 'Leave nothing unspoke."

Looking to no one but he, Vilhelm swallowed. 'Saxons. They stormed up the hill. I.." Another swallow. 'Our hill. The very one we encounter upon opening this here door. I mistake it not."

"You'd not. You have remarkable retention of detail. Come. Dress yourself. There's no reason to keep the others awake."

Vilhelm drew his clothes too him, watching Håvard move to his own bench to do the same, filling the room with silence once more. Other's settling back down once they realized there was no threat to speak of.

Yet. Anyway.

"Come." Ah, but you ground me. Håvard's hand had yet to truly fade from him, tight at the back of his neck. Soothing,almost. Even as he dressed. 

Shuffling, Håvard belted Hræsvelgr to him, even though there was no direct need for the blade. After a breaths hesitation, Will reached for Gagnráðr and mimicked.

Moments later found them walking outside the longhouse, stepping upon the lightly slicked grass, a comfortable gait forming their steps as they took to the fire, seating themselves upon the bark.

"You know she was right." Håvard stated, "It could only have been from the Gods."

"When did you hear me rise doubts of Hilde?" Vilhelm retorted, settling his chin upon his knuckles.

"Never of course. I was only confirming lest you have some uncertainty."

"Had I, I've little doubt it would have escaped your notice."

"And so I asked."

Vilhelm sighed, looking to the fire. "I would assume that you are considering a calling to Brita?" he asked, lifting Gagnráðr to stir the flames. A woman he knew of in name alone. A rueful smile playing upon his lips. Håvard had suggested the name, "he who reigns for victory" after one of Vilhelm's first battles to the South.

They had come victorious, and Vilhelm's kill count; after endless eve's spent training at Håvard's side had nearly matched his.

Of course,by contrast. Håvard's father had suggested the name of his own blade, "Corpse Swallower' after he managed a victory in a solitary raid.

"You know she will not lead us astray." Håvard reassured, bringing the back of his knuckles to Vilhelm's forehead, echoing the trace of the runes he'd left there so long ago.

_That night you birthed me._

_Born about your blood._

_Do I do you well?_

_A lean, all it took to embrace that soft,gentle pressure._

_You carry me through every storm, against every wind._

Every lick of flame carressed a path up the lines of Håvard's features. Dancing along the scar he knew from the day the old became no more than a vagueness caught against a dream.

Part of his beard, rough and brown, ccovered much, but not enough. Not enough to prevent Vilhelm from reaching; tracing.

As he had so long ago, the reflection licked the smoke.

'Nay. She shan't."

++++

_Alone, you stand._

_Together,you conquer._

Smoke congealed around the stones of the open flame, leaving a sort of ashen scent and coal tint to the nose and eyes. Stinging in the most pleasantly irritable of ways.

Wind drew back their hair, letting it ghost to the air in tribute.

Håvard gestured for them to wait, allowing her to come to them. Villhelm nodded, hands clasping to his sides as he gave in silent stance.

"For too long you have not come in search of me; were I more frail of mind, I might think you to have abandoned.' A voice, edged much like the cut of Gagnráðr drew back from the wind, Vilhelm and Håvard turned, seeing that she came from the trees.

"Never could do such, Brita.' Hair the colour of fresh morn sun; skin paler than the dusting of snow by the light of oncoming Winters Solstace.

Her eyes of frozen sea turned to Vilhelm in questioning. "With more than just a blade at your helm?"

"For twelve summers past, Good Lady."

"So you delay your discourse? How discourteous."

Vilhelm cleared his throat. 'Perhaps he believed me to not be ready."

"A trifle excuse. But it leaves no matter of necessity. Your countenace?"

"Vilhelm."

"Very well.' She seemed momentarily satisifed by the answer. 'Shall we?"

"Please."

Brita spun,gracefully. She carried herself with both rigor and pride. Something Vilhelm noticed by the firm glide of her steps and the way her shoulders rolled beneath the fine fabric of her dress. Shoulder's draped elegantly in fur. She lead them through the middle of the woods-where the center was long since trodden by the continual footfalls of the clan.

"Here should render satisfactory.' Vilhelm could see a tree had been fashioned to a sort of low-hanging table. A wooden carving in the center, offset by two stone bowls on either side that carried the flame of their lights.

Wood blocks,carved, lay together in a neat pile surrounding the statue, and Brita turned with a slight hum.

"Wrists." She ordered. 'Both if you please."

Håvard knelt, pushing back the edges of his tunic, Vilhelm following suit. Underbrush and leaves cool beneath his knees. Slightly damp. Brita approached Håvard first, face as solid as the very statue Vilhelm faced. Drawing forth not even so much of a gasp as she drew the dagger across the flesh, collecting in an empty bowl. 

When Vilhelm's turn came, he felt the sting only momentarily, fascinated by the sheen it broke across his skin; as though painted there.

She drew back, repeating the action upon her own flesh,before tipping the bowl over the runes, sliding them all together in the cup; she shook and rattled them,chanting at such pace her words were nigh indiscernible.

_To the sky, they come._

_Upon the ground, they unite._

_Marry in that harmony._

_What will seal to you your fate._

Around Brita, the blocks fell, red and dark.

"The Saxons come at dusk, and take by morn. Nor are they far. Crossing there way's from the Southern Sea and over arching the hills. We have little time to prepare.' Vilhelm could feel the cold wind in her tone; bringing him to a shiver. 

Håvard's eyes met Vilhelm's,and he too,seemed to shake. Brita glided to them, fitting a bloodied palm to the side of each of their faces. Hands shockingly warm despite the cold she eminated.

"You have the Gods protection. We will run them to the very earth."

++++

_On Vilhelm's second winter, he found himself in the billows of a tree, coiled between the branches and leaves, shivering beneath the fur Håvard had cloaked him in only hours before._

_“Vilhelm?” Calling out. Sounding distressed,distraught. Vilhelm whining softly at having invoked such terror in the man's voice._

_Do not be afraid._

_Worry not I am well._

_I only wanted to hunt, alone. Too prove myself capable._

_“Vilhelm!”_

_Shame kept him hidden, retreating further in his slippery holding. Snow fell from the disturbed branches he touched._

_“Vilhelm!”_

_Nay. Why must you cry for me?_

_I just want to be a man._

_Be good enough._

_Bothered by how much I might weigh you down! I will not be gone much long._

_“Vilhelm! Answer if you hear me!” There was something like a cack marring that edge, and Vilhelm whimpered at it's utterance._

_Do you not see?_

_There is too much pain._

_Do you cry?_

_No! Cry not for me!_

_I am fine._

_“Håvard!!”_

_Cannot allow you to suffer longer,not with that sort of distress. 'I's the tree!”_

_Håvard whipped around, glancing up to where Vilhelm had scurried, eyes softening in a sort of relief Vilhelm felt nearly guilty to see._

_“You are well! Come from there!”_

_Discovery births acceptance._

_Arms like that._

_How can you refuse?_

_Maybe that is part of being a man after all._

_Vilhelm jumped,he was caught easily, if with a little grunting. Håvard drew their foreheads together, until all Vilhelm could see was pupil._

_“Why would you run off so?” There was little heat to his vice,it was too over ladden with worry. Vilhelm moved to gesture to the small spear beneath his furs_

_“I only wanted to be a man.”_

_Håvard paused, giving a small sigh and a fond curl of the harsh features Vilhelm readily came to find comforting._

_“Child. You are a man. But that does not mean you journey alone.”_

“What thoughts come to pass?” Vilhelm asked, noticing how Håvard's gaze remained fixated upon the stretches of field and hill, blade held loosly in his grasp. Yet heavy enough to retain both accuracy and speed the second he need grab for it.

“Memories. They run rampant upon such times of discontent.” 

“We will be successful. We have the Gods upon us.”

Håvard smiled, softly.

“Aye. That we do.”

Erik came up from the side of the hill he had been keeping watch on, withdrawing his blade and gesturing towards the side of the Western hills.

“Movement. We should get ready.”

They were far away enough from the commune that, were luck to be in their favour; would be able to take down the Saxon's before they encroached upon the households.

Håvard rose to his feet, bringing Hræsvelgr up to his chest, Vilhelm taking up the left at his side, beginging to advance with he.

Cresting, they slowly made their way down the hill. The five of them, Yens, (who was moving with the slowness of the illness running rampant through his body. One they had discovered that morn) Erik, Leif, himself and Håvard, lead the frontal, a gaggle of men from the commune; assembled from a couple other clans, trailed behind. Strength in numbers they lacked.

But skill, they had aplenty.

“Barbarians!” Vilhelm's head turned in response. A language he knew instantly awkened in the pits of something amongst his ears that once was long dead. The other's rearing their heads in answer to the shout.

A man of average stature and clothed in white approached, his own blade drawn and his numbers far larger. Headed by four, but carrying many,many more.

“So we meet, Barbarians! You savages who seek to reign rampant upon our homes!”

Håvard's sharp edged teeth pulled back in a sneer, even though he lacked the capacity to understand the words, the threat reigned clear as day.

“You foolish,foolish Saxons. Have your words cast to the clouds! You will not breech our lands! You lack in honour!”

Words lay to the wayside, Vilhlem had lunged himself forward the very minute the Saxons behind their deluded leader began to advance, leaving nothing but the clanging of metal and the charge of wrists being pumped by iron blood.

Bodies hit bodies, ground shook beneath footfalls. They were outnumbered,they were swarmed. Vilhelm wrenched his blade free from the chest it sank too, only to immediately find it coming to rest in the body of another.

_Nameless._

_Mindless._

_Soulless._

_Heartless._

This is the destiny you have wrought upon yourself. Leif and Erik both managed to get side by side, creating a sort of double shot in the middle of three encroaching Saxon's. Vilhelm backed up, about to spin when he hit something solid; to find it only to be Håvard. Who's eyes were of a sort of golden focus, a growl of jaded confidence that brought forth a swing from Hræsvelgr that completely decapitated a staggering Saxon.

As they broke, Vilhlem felt the charge of Håvard's own body course through him.

Sutcliffe, panting from a harsh knee wound he sustained, rolled about to his back; shoving upwards to divest to the back of Yens his own sword, breaking spine, muscle and all that of which went with. Finding purchase at the other side of his body.

Yens collapsed, his shout of surprise fell on defeaning air.

“Servants of the Lord!” Chilton shouted, forcing a kick to an oncoming clansman, 'Crest that hill! They have homes same as we! Let them suffer and fell how God's hand retaliates when it hath been struck!”

Swarm they did, breaking away from the current parries to bring themselves up the hill. Håvard lept down a mound and slid on his knees, swinging Hræsvelgr to the side and letting her cut mercilessly through two bodies that were charging. A slice to the side of his head leaving him without a portion of his braids.

Small penance.

Vilhelm forced himself backwards, each footfall of his boots threatening to run him aground lest he miss even a hairsbreadth of a step. Natural mud broke the paths of the Saxons; but not enough so that they did not reach their journey.

_Do you remember._

_Hear you now,their screams._

_Those shrieks._

_The way a voice cracks and laddens itself with sobs of peril as the oncoming reaper meets it's course?_

_Nothing you can accomplish._

_Not a soul you might save._

Leif found himself in a violent tussle, leaving him in a headlock by a Saxon at least two rocks of his size. Only managing to break himself free by drawing back his knee; dislodging the man and diving his blade clean through the neck.

“They come too advanced!” Leif shouted. Desperately. “Håvard! We not have that of which needed to best them so!'

Håvard, on his knees against the muck, threw out both elbows, winding the two whom held him at bay, turning around to lop off the head of the West, and stab through the stomach the man of the East. “We have the Gods! And we have our strength! This night will not end in Saxon glory!”

Less than twenty paces away, the longhouse of Håvard's clan began to catch at the edges. Flames brought by torches lit from their very own fires, sending up clouds of smoke and ash so dark it floated about the commune, cloaking it in death.

Vilhelm's eyes burned, Tobias came from the flames at the West and slammed the tip of his blade clean through Erik's knee, sending him down as Hervor, running at a pace deemed almost impossible, tripped and caught herself harsh upon a bed of rocks.

She cried out, leading Svåva, whom had Agnar hastily bundled in spare cloths to keep his face from suffering, reached out a hand and brought her mother back up.

Safety was deep with the woods, and that alone.

Svåva whirled herself around, handing off Agnar too her mother,shouting until her throat strained with that effort.

'Mother! Take him safe! You have the limp and I not!"

Hervor debated her protest,but Svåva had left her little room for the moment, tearing off across the short field expanse of their clan's grounds. Jumping over the fire at so close a pace her dress nearly caught,vanishing to the longhouse and returning mere moments later.

"You will take yourselves form our lands as though you had not come!' She shrieked, clutching the hilt around a dagger of seven inches, using the flat of her heel to kick against Franklyn, whom was approaching another longhouse not far off from Håvard's, knocking him off balance enough to bring her leg down to the center of his stomach. Letting the edge of the dagger slice across his throat, tossing him towards the fire as she released.

A huff,she spun and grabbed for the side of Erik's tunic, looking to him.

"Can you fight still?"

He blinked, dazed, she slid the dagger's edge to her belt, and slapped him. 'I say can you fight!"

Clearing,he gave a low nod, she smiled softly, releasing him again. 'Then fight you must, lest your wound keep you down further."

Erik, attempting to regain his footing; gave a nod, going with her back to a frey.

Still at the hill, Håvard swung almost blindly. Blood blinded his right eye, ran down his cheek, soaking beard and collar.

Vilhelm close by,panted from exertion.

_His boy._

_That Saxon child._

_A warrior unlike any other._

_My hands, they birthed you._

_How you stand now._

_What a glorious reminder of that._

Vilhelm, spinning articulatly upon his heel, brought Gagnráðr to a completion, only to have the blade deflected by the one whom lead. When his eyes looked better upon Vilhelm, he nearly dropped his own blade. Wrought silent.

Finally,

'You live and breath. Boy from the hut.'

Vilhelm's ears,still ringing from the disuse of his native tongue, took a moment to catch, but when they did Odin's wrath filled his pupils in dilation.

“Chilton!” A tone of ice,words of venom.

“William! We never would have believed you to live! Ah, but by the Lord this is gracious! Come! With us you seek! No more will you be made to suffer at the hands of these savages!”

Vilhelm's voice, so unused to his original tongue came out with a strangled grit, accented and rough around the edges. 

“You, Chilton. Are as delusional as your Lord! I return not to you! I am with those whom I belong now! My only destiny as of will be to bring you to the opening of Hel!”

Chilton, unexpecting of the backlash, stared at him in a chronic, almost ironic disbelief.

"Twelve summers is all it takes to forget your loyalities?"

"I was starving. My bearer left to the thistles of the earth because we lacked a male and she the desire to remarry; cast aside and left to fend upon the droppings of horses; what, have I to been loyal to?"

"Missfortune is a God given occurance, William. We remain loyal to the earth we were born upon, until the blood seeps from our skins."

"Ah." A glint. 'But I was reborn. Through the ashes of the earth you left me to die on,and brought to something new. A people who care. That, is where my loyalty lies. In those whom it deserves to be given-not in that of which I was fated."

"Reborn?" Chilton slid the sword down his palm, leting sweat dissipate before his grip regained. 'There is no rebirth. There is only life. You've let these..heathens; cloud your judgement."

Vilhelm's sword was still tight, shoulders reared. 'Those 'heathens" are the only reason I'm alive today. The only reason I had not past the same night they ran us to the ground. If your God is one of sacrfice and suffering; when you are still to young to know him I want no part in his course.'

A sigh, it sounded to Vilhelm as though Chilton himself could barely believe his own current patience. "Do you not see, William?" Refusing,still, to call him by his new, his true name. "She was against the ways. Her refusal was her undoing! If she cared only for what was right,you'd not have been cast aside!"

"Her right?" Vilhelm echoed, offended. 'She was in mourning! Told to throw herself upon the next willing body,and oh,there were many-many after her for her softness; eyes green as the dew covered grass, just hours after he ceased to be among our world. And when she refused,she who was too sad to know anything but her tears, you tossed her out! Left her to rot till she came around! All that was 'God's' will? You and your people may see wives and mother's as fragile cast offs no good for naught but population but they-we do not! We do not toss them about the wind like bones when they don't do as we wish!"

Chilton let out a small gasp of a sound, and it grated against the edges of Vilhelm's ears. "I am trying to make you see reason,boy."

"Call me not boy, I am of man"

"Regardless. Since you choose not to listen; I suppose you shall greet God before morn"

Vilhelm, anticipating the shift, had already drawn up his blade, meeting the clash of Chilton's with a shouted; 'Your God brings me to no meaning!"

"That very fact is what has made these...barbarians just as they be!" Chilton hissed, unlocking himself from Vilhelm,stepping back a half inch or so. 'Men of no faith are men without guidance!"

"No Faith?" Vilhelm echoed, adjusting his footing and delivering another lunge forward. 'Or men of a belief you fail to understand and therby deem 'barbaric.'

“Men whom-' Chilton reached up, clashing his blade to the edges of Vilhelm's until the metal sang a symphony, '-do not believe in the Lord and whom come to where they are not welcome are naught but Barbarians!'

Like a distant echo, Håvard could make out the sounds of their struggle. His own body ached, his eyes blinding; the blade finding a home in the middle of Tobias skull; where it split.

_Would you pull through?_

_I fail to understand._

_But I believe._

_I know of your strength._

Vilhelm's voice reached a peak; springing up from the very bellows of the mud as he got the blade up between Chilton's arms, driving it through the bottom of his rib cage.

_Pulling._

_Breaking._

_Cracking._

_Let Hel greet you and your so called blasphemy._

_Here,_

_I stand._

Chilton sank to the earth with a slowness Vilhelm could barely deem possible, only brought forth by Håvard's hands, soot covered and bloodied, wrapping about the back of his neck, giving forth that squeeze that would forever ground him.

Only then did he become aware of his tears, and only then,did he let his head rest at Gagnráðr's hilt.

++++

_"Håvard.” Vilhelm asked, four springs in, even then crawling to his lap despite some of his height finally taking a show. “Why did you save me,that day?”_

_Håvard paused, hand mindlessly going to Vilhelm's curls, where they lay messy and undone. “You should not have been left to suffer. I saw in you a will to live,and I gave it capability.'_

_Vilhelm frowned,considering._

_“Thank you.”_

_Håvard tilted his head, curious. 'Thank you?”_

_Vilhelm smiled; nestling into the crook of his neck and shoulder, a place he felt he'd never find himself too overgrown for. “Thank you.”_

++++

Smoke and ash had the most curious way of filling the body, like the touch of one most gentle, slowly crawling a gentle path through the body; until it settled as though it belonged there all along.

Heat lit the sides of their faces, standing as they were. In contrast to the mist given off naturally by the sea. 

A great flame amongst the ship, congealing in the air, bathing them all. Leaving little to spare.

Håvard lifted Hræsvelgr, Vilhelm Gagnráðr, Leif his own, Svåva her dagger.

Amongst the flames, lay Erik, Hilde, Yens. Many others, too.

To the setting sun, they cried,

“To Valhalla!' 

The blades lowered, returned to their sheaths. Letting the crowd part; returning to the ruins needing to be rebuilt.

Håvard turned to Vilhelm, and Vilhelm turned to he.

Their foreheads drew together, and Hræsvelgr crossed Gagnráðr.

Like eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all for your interest in this story! It is rapidly becoming one of my favourites,and certainly one of the ones I've had the most fun writing.
> 
> Nerdly History Facts Below, (Should you find yourself interested/as they relate to the story)
> 
> Vikings did often name their swords,and what better name for Håvard's than 'Corpse Swallower?" ;)
> 
> As you can see, both Håvard and Vilhelm lack in wives. Yes. It's contrived. Yes, it's inaccurate. I actually had a wife for Håvard at one point,and I played with the idea for the better part of a week before I scraped it entirely. You may unleash the pitchforks.
> 
> On the subject of Øyvind, Svåva's outcasted husband. Viking women were given a great deal of respect in their communities. Men who mistreated them,married or not, would become ostracized by the commune.
> 
> I don't include years when I speak of how much time has passed (using 'Summers' "Eve" 'Morn' etc because the Vikings had their own dates. The Julian Calendar wasn't in use there. I'm just not entirely sure what they used instead. It was easier to count by the sun,and seasons. For the story; anyway.
> 
> The character of Brita (Bedelia) is basically the central figure in their beliefs. Historically; this was a woman who would attach herself to a particular person or clan and basically took charge of their rituals for the Gods. Like a seer,almost. As such, she's attached here to Håvard.
> 
> The part with the runes isn't entirely accurate. I encountered a bit of a research fail on rune rituals. 
> 
> And finally, I know I said this was only going to be two parts. But I wanted a third part. So there.


	3. East and West, Well Met

Better ask for too little than offer too much,  
like the gift should be the boon;  
better not to send than to overspend.  
........  
Thus Odin graved ere the world began;  
Then he rose from the deep, and came again.   
-Hávamál

|| 827 AD. Borg, Norway ||

_Summer's past and Summer's come._

_What time might one know?_

_Should all you have accomplished, be for naught?_

_Or do you pass on such legacy as to lead a curious path; for those yet to cross?_

In the fading of the winters left a glassy tint to the grass; the soles of his boots leaving definite impressions upon their ground to leave the marks which he knew would never truly fade.

_You imprinted yourself amongst the earth._

Hand wrapped with gentle ease against the branch he had gathered, he stared to the slightly worn and faded knuckles. Old scars; and ash that never truly disappeared once implanted so heavily with the flesh.

A set of marks he had little mind bearing. After all, even with the slight slowness to his walk,a stiffness he was yet still unfamiliar; he could glance to his hands,his face in a stream; and smile again.

Beneath the soft grass, he could feel the shifting of the earth, where his boots sank just so. 

The very grass where once, he had taken Vilhelm; and he had bequeathed to he the new skill that he was still in development of. Just one month after his arrival.

_“Look, Håvard!” Vilhelm exclaimed, mud coated hand wrapping tightly about the coarse material of his breeches; around the knee. Crouched as he were; it was the only body part he was capable of reaching._

_'Aye aye, what have you now child?” Håvard asked, tipping his head down to see where Vilhelm was sat upon his knees, pointing excitedly to the mud below._

_Håvard looked as instructed, gazing upon the series of lines and crosses Vilhelm was surrounded by._

_“Vilhelm,' Reverent. “Could it be..?”_

_“My name, Håvard! I made my name!”_

_So he had, harsh and with shaky hand, but his name it was indeed._

_“Such skill already!' Håvard praised,bringing Vilhelm to his arms, where the child's locked about his neck. “Well done!”_

_Vilhelm clicked his tongue and sighed happily, peering at his creation with the fondness of any mother her child._

“Lost in memory, are we?” Håvard turned slowly upon heel, reaching back to take Vilhelm's outstretched hand, palm flat upon his own, offering a squeeze before he let the hand slide to his elbow, then shoulder; cresting over the last of the hillside with him.

“Memory is one's greatest companion, Vilhelm.”

“Greater even than those whom create them?”

“Nothing is better than a true companion,Vilhelm.” Håvard noted warmly, allowing himself to sit against a fallen log, Vilhelm joining at his side.

“Agnar fell from the rockways.” Vilhelm noted, conversationally. “I could hear Svåva curses and thankfulness that he has but learned to swim.”

“Hopeless.” Håvard chuckled, “Has he found his balance?”

“Had he any to find?”

That earned Vilhelm another laugh,introspected by a dull cough that brought him concern but not outright worry, and he knew that Håvard had desired his company for more than just the usual reprieve.

“Vilhelm” Håvard began. “There are things you need to be made aware of..”

“Shh.” Vilhelm raised his own earth torn knuckle to the pale lips, silencing him, 'I know of them. I too, can count the seasons pass.”

“So you can.” Håvard agreed, with a small expelling chuckle, the dips of his eyes giving way to crinkles. “So you can..”

“Aye.” Vilhelm's hand carded through his own curls, dark still but with ice like slots of grey spiking through their pathway. “The Gods gave me only the best, after all.”

“We serve them well.”

“And we they.” Vilhelm asserted, letting his hands come up behind Håvard's head; where the white coils had come lose, taking them in hand to set them right once more.

“So we have. These lands are safe yet again.” Allowing himself to bring his head back; the sensation familiar; and welcome.

_“Håvard,” Small body climbing up his back before he was wholly prepared, nearly setting him back to the fire. Lief snorting behind his covered hands. “Your hair has become loose.”_

_“Allow me a moment to finish cooking; I shall right it.'_

_“No need.' Vilhelm slid from his back, standing atop the log that had been Håvard's seat before he stood to roast. 'I shall!”_

_With no room left for any sort of protest, Vilhelm set to work, the thick strands bringing him some difficulty, but not enough that he found it hindering. As the meal came to completion, Håvard's hair was left in a messy,but suitable binding._

_“I thank thee, child.” Håvard said warmly, letting Vilhelm vacate the seat before finding a new one upon Håvard's lap, hands at his side as he pushed his mouth forward to bite against bone, chewing thoughtfully against the warmth of his chest._

_So you leave your legacy._

_Ere you find yourself without anything to call a home._

_The path you take,_

_The conquests,_

_The salvation,_

_And the victory._

_Bring to you the notion,the knowledge that your journey comes with full purpose._

_And intent._

“I brought something.' Vilhelm interrupted,gently drawing him out from the recollection, to a present he would never deny.

“Have you?” Turning to see Vilhelm reaching for the animal skin at his side,belted near hip; a smile playing beneath the snow filtered chestnut of his hair.

“Aye. Some spirit to bring you joy.”

“Yours is plenty.” 

Vilhelm coughed and pushed the skin to him, shaking his head fondly. 

Håvard brought the warmed liquid to his lips, the drought making a cool,but spicy path down his throat. Warming him,comforting him.

When passed to Vilhelm, he took to the same.

In silence, they passed it between themselves, until there was naught but a drop left to the bottom. Shared,with an exchange of breath and soft laughter, foreheads drawn together.

“You hold the future in your eyes, Vilhelm.”

Vilhem chuckled in return.

“And you the world.”

A downward reach and Håvard removed the single band of slightly tarnished and wrought iron from his finger, holding it in palm.

“In youth; my father gave this to me; his father before he. In the carvings, you see the signature of the Gods that keep us safe.” Håvard explained. Refusing to dislodge his forehead from the comforting resting place it had formed against Vilhelm's.

Vilhelm inhaled, letting Håvard spread the fingers of his right hand, taking the second to last and slipping it over the muscle, over the scars,and over the wear.

Chanting,softly.

Sealed thus, Håvard raised his lips to metal and flesh, forcing the bind eternally.

“You will make a fine Chief, Vilhelm.”

Vilhelm swallowed, almost unaware of the moisture that coated his visage. His own fingers sinking to the braided whiteness, where he could find that single indentation in the flesh.

_So old, so new._

_So everlasting._

_His lips closed upon it, sealed, breathed warm air and promise._

_Legends breed eternal._

++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Håvard is now 54, and Vilhelm, 44. A litttttle older than should be practical,but well.
> 
> So ends our little journey! I am so glad you could all join me on this little path. I had a great time writing it and I had even more fun telling it and sharing it with you all. Thank you so much!
> 
> PS: In case nobodies seen it yet, my darling Nord, Vaeltaa made a lovely graphic for this fic. See here. It is beautiful and perfect. [Blodørn Graphic](http://warrioromen.tumblr.com/post/69617981224/vaeltaa-blod-rn-viking-au-by-warrioromen-on)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Not sure when Part II will be up,but it shouldn't be too long. :)
> 
> Quick Notes (Hello nerd here)
> 
> The majority of the Viking raiding in Europe (England,Scotland and Ireland being the biggest sufferers) took place from the very late 8th century and to the middle of the 9th century. The majority of these Vikings were of Danish and Norwegian nationality  
> English were mostly Saxons. With the Irish and Scottish being Celts. There was also the Welsh, whom were also considered Celts. Christianity didn't really start to spread until about the 10th cenutury. It did exist, it just wasn't as popular. so I am admittedly a bit off there. Of course the Vikings were considered Pagan. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Although I would say most of these apply to well, Part II. Heh.)


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